Sabrina

This is cruel and unusual punishment.

The icing calls to me. It speaks to me in sweet, sugary tones. Lick me, take me, touch me.

“This isn’t fair. This is like going to a shelter full of big-eyed pups needing homes. I want to give them all a home,” I say to Courtney as I gawk at the polished glass case in the Sunshine Bakery on the Upper West Side.

Marble cakes and slices of tropical coconut pies whisper sweet nothings to me. Pink strawberry-shortcake cupcakes wink in my direction. A mouth-watering seven-layer bar talks dirty to me—eat me.

Oh yes, I believe I will.

Courtney taps her finger against her chin. “We’re having a celebration today since one of our start-ups hit a big milestone, and I need to bring cake to the office.”

“Cake is the universal currency.”

“It’s also the universal motivator. People will do anything for cake.”

“You’re going to use cake to tell your team you need them to work sixty-hour weeks? You’re a cruel mistress.”

“Ha. Not quite. But you know what else cake does?”

“Tell me.”

“It weeds out the animals in your office. I brought a sheet cake in once, left it in the break room, and when I went to get it ten minutes later, it looked like a family of bear cubs had come through.”

“Cake transforms people into bear cubs. It’s a proven fact.”

She returns to the glass, perusing the offerings and stopping at a vanilla cake with confetti frosting. “Ohh, look at the celebration cake.”

I do, and my eyes pop out. “It’s eight dollars a slice. It better give me celebratory orgasms at that price.”

The woman behind the counter laughs. “It just might. I’ve been told my cake is quite orgasmic.”

I laugh, but I can’t bring myself to shell out that much dough for a slice of dough.

“Too pricey for my pauper budget,” I whisper to my friend.

“I’ll get it for you.”

“You’ll do no such thing. I’m not taking your cake handouts. Besides, I’d rather come to the office and act like a bear cub in your break room without you knowing.”

My friend places her order for two-dozen cupcakes, and as the woman packs the box, Courtney smacks her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

“Forgot to tell me what?”

“Your name came up the other day.”

“Was it for a fabulous job at a tech publication?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “It was just in passing. I had my regular check-in call with Kermit, and he mentioned you.”

My spidey-sense tingles with suspicion. “What did he say? It can’t have been good since he told me he thought I was a hack.”

“I don’t think he thinks you’re a hack. I think he’s jealous of you.”

I scoff. “For what?”

“He wanted to know how your story with Flynn was going. He heard through the grapevine that Up Next was doing a feature, and that you were writing it, and he said, ‘That angel investor stole my scoop with Flynn.’”

I arch a brow. “Stole his scoop?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “You know how boys are. They’re so territorial. Peeing on everything. Marking it like it’s theirs.”

“It’s not his scoop. It’s my story.”

She pokes my shoulder. “You’re like a bear cub with a cake when it comes to that piece.”

“Damn straight.”

As she finishes her purchase, my attention wanders to a mini pink cupcake for a dollar fifty.

“I’ll take that one,” I say, and the woman drops it into a bag for me.

* * *

Later that day, I head to Flynn’s office. Even though we’re doing most of the interviews off-site, I do want to see a demo of Haven in action. As I walk to midtown, I toggle over to my podcast app and cue up one of Kermit’s shows.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

With my earbuds in, I listen as I march across town. I catch a snippet of Kermit interviewing a CEO at a search giant, then tune in to a piece of another show about the top ten companies to watch. Next, I try a segment on trends in consumer technology.

I grit my teeth, frustrated.

Because they’re good.

All of them.

They’re compelling, fascinating, and I can’t believe how much I’m learning as I listen to Kermit and his team of reporters.

How much I’m enjoying their work. It’s irksome.

And so is the name that flashes on my screen.

Maureen.

Tension floods every molecule in my body.

My mother.

As I stop at a red light, I briefly weigh whether to look at her text now or later. But it’ll nag at me during my time at Flynn’s office, so I slide my thumb across to view it.

Maureen: Hey, baby! What’s shaking? I feel like I never talk to you anymore. Call your mom now and then, would you?

I draw a deep, calming breath, pretending I’m a bird soaring in the sky. My wings are spread, and I’m free of her. Free of hiding, free of lying, free of any hold she might have on me. Hell, I’ve been free for years, ever since she left Kevin and me, barely making time for us when I was in high school, leaving me to be the surrogate parent for her son.

Sabrina: Hi. Life is good. I’ve been busy with work! I’ll call soon.

I won’t call soon, but it’s easier to type than telling her the truth. I haven’t called her in years, and if she hasn’t realized that, she’s the foolish one.

As I cross the street, I kick her far out of my mind. I do the same to Kermit and his podcasts.

* * *

Flynn meets me at reception, then guides me through the offices. As he passes employees in the hall, he peppers them with questions about school plays and book clubs, remembering their kids’ names, their wives’ names, and so on.

When we reach his office, I say, “You planned that, didn’t you?”

“Planned what?”

“To wander through the halls looking like the genial, amazing boss who everybody loves.”

“Yes, Sabrina, that’s exactly what I did. I’m really a horrible ass, but I want you to think I’m a wonderful guy, so I told my employees in advance to act like they like me. Are you fooled?”

I wink. “Completely.” I pause then add, “Also, my job is to be skeptical.”

He shakes his head, and his tone is intensely serious. “Don’t be skeptical about that. I do care deeply for them.”

When he walks me through the whiz-bang features of the smart home, including a British voice that talks back to me in a sexy-as-sin accent, I have to say, I’m suitably impressed.

“Want Daniel to make you tea or coffee?” Flynn gestures to the coffee grinder and the tea kettle on the counter of the demo home setup in the offices.

“Daniel, please make me some green tea,” I say to the white device on the table.

“Of course. Would you like anything with that? Some music, perhaps, as you wait?”

Laughing, I answer him, “Yes, please play the Broadway soundtrack to Aladdin.”

As “Arabian Nights” sounds softly through the speakers, I shrug at Flynn. “Guess I had genies on my mind.”

“Or genie costumes,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at the reminder of another private exchange of ours.

Soon, my green tea is ready, and we head to Flynn’s office where I ask him a few more questions as I drink my tea.

After we finish, I stand, ready to head for the door, lest I be distracted by another magnificent meandering conversation with him that stimulates my mind and my heart. But before I go, I reach into my purse and take out a white bag with a pink sticker on it. I place it on his desk.

“Do you like cupcakes?” I ask nervously.

He blinks. “What kind of question is that? Are you testing to see if I’m secretly an alien?”

“Are you?”

“No, I’m not an alien, because I love cupcakes.”

“I picked this up for you.” I slide the bag closer.

His smile does funny things to my heart, makes it cartwheel as my skin heats, and I wonder what compelled me to buy him a sweet treat.

“I have no idea what you like to eat,” I say, explaining myself. “But it looked really good, so I took a guess.”

He peers into the bag and removes the treat. “Looks amazing. Are you trying to bribe me with cupcakes to give up all my secrets?”

“Is that all it’ll take?”

“Depends how good the cupcake is.”

“Then, please by all means, devour it.”

He drums his fingers on his desk, his eyes never straying from mine. “That isn’t what I want to devour.”

“It’s not?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“Not in the least. But it might be a substitute.”

“I hope it tastes as good as what you really want,” I say breathily.

“I doubt anything tastes as good as what I really want.”

As he brings the cupcake to his lips, he stares at me. His expression is full of rampant lust and desire, and it almost feels like a dirty promise that at some point he’ll have me. He flicks the tip of his tongue over the icing and heat flares low in my belly.

I want to be that cupcake.

That cupcake really is orgasmic.

* * *

After I leave, I call Mr. Galloway and update him.

“Glad to hear it’s going well, and don’t forget, we have that opening coming up soon. If you deliver, we can create a beat. You could be the reporter to make it happen.”

That’s exactly what I want. “I’ll make it happen, sir.”

“Excellent. I’m told the advertising team is working overtime on the cause. As long as we get the ad support, we can start regular coverage.”

Images of watchmakers and cologne purveyors flash before my eyes. If there’s any publication that can drum up the necessary ad money, it’s Up Next. That’s what they do—land big money in sponsors, making it possible to write these deep features and hopefully keep covering technology.

“It’s going to be an exciting industry to follow,” I say, then I take stock of that comment for a second. Do I think it’s exciting because I care for Flynn? Or is it exciting in and of itself?

But the memory of the tea brewing and the soundtrack to Aladdin playing flashes before me, calling for attention. They were cool, plain and simple. This is a huge growth area. “I should have the piece done shortly. I’ve finished all the interviews with people who have worked with him and those who compete with him, as well as analysts and experts. I just need two more short interviews with him, and one with his brother. I should be finished shortly after. I’ll turn it in a few days early.”

“Excellent. I hope you’ll impress me. If you do, that will go a long way.”

I terribly want to impress him, to win him over.

The trouble is, every time I see the subject of my article, it’s harder and harder for me to be objective as I write about the man I’m falling for.